Aches
by Wynjara
Summary: After being injured in more ways than one, Legolas must heal. Minor slash first few chapts. only, some violence. Rating for adult situations.
1. Hard Memories

A/N  I was inspired to write this after reading another story.  So far this has Ar/B/L scenes and Ar/B implied.  Aragorn and Boromir are not particularly pleasant, just to warn you.  I think you can figure out the back story, but if not let me know.

********

Legolas stumbled away from the brutal laughter of his tormentors.  His anger and disgust at what had been done to him shifted, inward, until he loathed himself as much as the Men who had violated him.  How could he have been so weak?  He was a warrior!  His body was trained to obey him, and yet he had succumbed to their invasions.

He moaned in pain and anguish as the too recent pains, physical and mental, flowed over him, consuming his awareness.  He sank to the base of a nearby tree, unaware of the cold, the coming dawn, even his lack of clothing; aware only of his memories.

Gimli looked up from sharpening his axe.  Idly his glance roved around the clearing they had camped in.  The Hobbits were asleep in a pile, sharing body heat since they did not dare a large fire.  Gandalf sat against a tree, smoking thoughtfully.  The two Men had returned a short time ago, and were settling down to sleep, but the elf was nowhere to be seen.  "How long does it take anyone to gather wood?" he muttered.

Gandalf looked at him intently.  "How long, indeed," he mused.  He stood abruptly and moved from the circle of light.  Aragorn looked up from his bedding.

"Where's he off to?" the Man asked.

Glancing at the sleeping Hobbits to make sure they hadn't also disappeared, the dwarf replied, "Gone to find our wandering woodsboy."  He returned to his sharpening, missing the smirk that flew between the two Men.

Gandalf had come upon the stricken elf before he even saw the boy.  The lack of reaction from Legolas worried him; the elf should have heard him coming.  His dismay grew after he summoned light from his staff.  The damage to the elf was painfully obvious in the light.

"My dear boy, what has been done to you," the wizard murmured sadly, stooping near the oblivious elf.  There was no sign of life in the staring blue eyes.

Choking off his grief, Gandalf pulled a small herb pouch from his pocket.  The cuts and bruises were easily treated, but in no way accounted for the elf's condition.  He nearly cried when he found the evidence.  Someone had taken the elf forcefully, tearing the soft skin.  With this new knowledge, he lifted Legolas' unresisting chin, and found the further signs he had feared.  The elf remained motionless during Gandalf's treatment.  He did not react until the wizard pulled him into his arms, and then he struggled weakly against the entrapment.  Gandalf held himself as far from danger as he could, dodging the wild blows, which would have been painful even with Legolas so weak.  As if to prove this, a flailing fist made glancing contact with the wizard's chin, causing him to grind his teeth together involuntarily.  The elf ceased his struggle then, one hand buried in the wizard's beard.  He lay once again as one dead.

Gandalf looked down at the limp form, and sighed.  Their fellowship was on a difficult journey, and now it would be more difficult than it already was bound to be.  "Someday, you will tell me what happened here," the wizard whispered, rising more agilely than his appearance would allow, and heading back to their camp.

The Men and Hobbits were asleep when the dwarf's ears caught the wizard's return.  He scowled at the heavy steps, knowing full well that the wizard was capable of making very little noise.  His eyes widened in surprise as the wizard came into sight, carrying a wrapped figure that he could only assume was Legolas.

"Gandalf?" the dwarf whispered.  The wizard carried his bundle to a place beside the fire, near Gimli's lookout post, and sat, leaning the unconscious elf against him.  He smoothed Legolas' ruffled hair, then turned to the dwarf.  Gimli raised an eyebrow in question.   "Did our elf fall down?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried.

Gandalf sighed.  "He was attacked, Gimli.  He will need a great deal of care to recover."

The dwarf walked over quietly and looked down at his comrade.  He stood still for a moment before turning back to the wizard.  "I thought elves sleep with their eyes open," he said.

Gandalf stifled a curse and bent over the elf.  Sure enough, his eyes were closed, his face pale.  Shifting carefully beneath his charge, the wizard lifted Legolas into his lap, cradling him against his chest, whispering reassurances until the next dawn.  

The elf's eyes never opened.


	2. Suspicions and Loss

A/N Ooh yay, I actually got a feedback. *sniff* I'm so happy.

Oh, in case I didn't mention, canon is more or less a minor concern.

****** 

The Hobbits looked over their shoulders at the wizard behind them. Aragorn of course was leading the way, with Boromir taking his side. Usually Legolas would have been scouting as well, but today…

Gandalf was carrying the unconscious elf. What exactly had happened, no one knew, or if they knew, no one was telling the Hobbits. The only knew that Legolas had gone out for wood and returned severely injured. They were only mildly confused at the wizard caring for him. Strider certainly had been their healer when Frodo had been injured, but of course now he was responsible for many more people, and if he could direct all his energy to that task, so much the better. Gandalf was wise and talented. He certainly could care for the ill elf.

---

Gandalf had taken to settling down slightly apart from the others at night, with the silent elf beside him. At the first he had wrapped Legolas in his arms at night, holding away nightmares, but as time went on and the elf opened his eyes again, they sought separate blankets. He was recovering quickly, and yet he would not tell anyone what had happened, retreating into himself when pressed. 

The wizard looked down at the sleeping elf and sighed. Legolas had lain down beside him this evening, which usually meant he was expecting nightmares. Indeed, the elf seemed to be facing down an unknown enemy in his mind. Gandalf listened to the quiet pleas, realized that this dream was more a reliving of his ordeal. He leaned to wake the elf.

"No." 

Gandalf stopped in surprise, but the elf seemed not to be speaking to him.

"No, not now. I cannot- I will not. I cannot tell you.  It would destroy us.

"I will not sunder the Fellowship."

Gandalf sat back as the elf seemed to pass out of his nightmare. He stared into nothingness as the elf's words washed over him.

_I will not sunder the Fellowship._

-_Legolas changing his seat at the fire, coming to sit beside the wizard_

_ -the elf heading to find wood_

_ -the two Men heading out together_

_ -waking Gimli to stand guard_

_ -the two Men returning, settling down_

_ -Gimli's realization that Legolas had not returned_

Gandalf replayed the events of that night in his mind. He had not seen anything amiss at the time. Legolas often went into the woods alone. Aragorn and Boromir often went off together, and Gandalf knew full well what the two were up to. It had never bothered him, so he did not bring it up. But now, looking back on the order of events, he came to a conclusion he did not like.

_I will not sunder the Fellowship._

--- 

Caradhas 

'Let them think I'm flighty. I cannot stay beside them any longer, and it may chance that I find some help or passage.' Legolas raced over the surface of the snow, embracing the painful cold that stung him. Let Men think that temperatures did not affect him. While it was true that elves felt the cold less, this brutal blast was enough to cause damage. 

Legolas threw his cloak open, standing still on the tall snow mound. The windblown freeze left him feeling clean for the first time in weeks. He stood, skin bared to the cold, for several long minutes, until the numbness of his limbs reminded him of his comrades' plight. Closing his shirt and pulling tight his cloak he headed back to the group, intent on finding a way through, peaceful for the moment.

---

Gandalf looked out the corner of his eye at the silent elf. Legolas had begun to regain his poise and independence, though he was still somber, but here in the Moria mines, the wizard noticed him straying closer. The elf was a creature of woods and sun; he had no place in these closed tunnels.

Legolas, had he known Gandalf's thoughts, would have agreed. He felt uneasy here, trapped beneath miles of rock, far from even the starlight that he craved. Surrounded by the dead, in tunnels that may well be his tomb, he found the memories of his attack creeping up on him again. There was nowhere to run here, no way to escape any unwanted proposals. He was constantly on guard against the Men, trying to always know exactly where each of them was. Gandalf's attention had helped, but he knew very well that he was clinging to the wizard like a child afraid of the dark. The Men would not dare accost him while near the powerful man. He thought that it was only his sense of duty that bound him to life. He had pledged to protect and aid the Ringbearer throughout his journey, and he would do so to the best of his ability. The friendships he had thought to find had indeed helped him, but his bond to the dwarf was shaky at best, and he considered the Hobbits mostly too silly for true companions. He clung now to the ideal of the Fellowship, and to Gandalf.

--- 

"He fell into shadow and fire. A balrog took him." Legolas' voice was flat and emotionless. The elven Lady saw his grief, and it pained her that she could not relieve it.

The Fellowship spent some days in the woods of Lorien. The Lady watched them from a distance. The Hobbits were astonished by the realm (especially the food). The dwarf seemed content to sit and listen, or just rest. The two Men alternately planned their route, and disappeared into the woods together, to return some time later rather worn out. She knew full well what they were doing, and shut her mind to it, not wishing to be a voyeur. 

Legolas worried her. The child was pale and withdrawn, though he was almost never alone. The one time she had seen him awaken alone, he had panicked, and run to find his companions. She could not see fully what troubled him, and she was confused. What could he possibly fear in Lorien?

---

Legolas accepted the Lady's gift with wonder. The bow's craftsmanship was truly astonishing. He marveled at its balance, the weight that exactly matched what he looked for in a weapon. Its beauty was a secondary consideration, adding to his joy.

It was the last wonder he felt for some time.


	3. Pain

_There is an NC-17 version of this linked through my profile.  I tried to rewrite this to R, let me know if I failed miserably._

          "Legolas," Aragorn called calmly.  The elf looked up warily.  "Would you gather some firewood?"  Legolas froze, remembering too well what had happened the last time he'd gone out for wood.  "I could ask one of the Hobbits, but I'm afraid they're all asleep."  His voice lowered as he crouched beside the silent elf.  "And they're so small, so fragile…"  He broke off with a short laugh as the elf bolted into the forest.

          Boromir was waiting when Aragorn arrived.  He'd caught the wary elf, managing to damage him only slightly while subduing him.  Now the pale form was stripped to the waist, his wrists bound at shoulder length to a sturdy branch above him, his legs secured.  He was unconscious.

          Aragorn admired his lover's work, trailing a finger down the elf's bare chest before crushing his lover to him.  Their lips met fiercely, inflamed by their plans.  Their proceedings left them both breathless and shirtless by the time the elf began to stir.

          Boromir went to the bound elf.  He'd gagged him, so did not fear him crying out.  The Man stood and admired the pale body, before leaning in and touching the tip of his tongue to the elf's nipple.  He was pleased by the elf's involuntary reaction, even as the elf tried to pull away.  He grabbed the elf by the throat, holding him still as he bent his attentions to his body.  Aragorn laughed beside him and bent to the other nipple.  Legolas writhed beneath the dual onslaught, in pain or pleasure even he could not have said.  The Men were fondling him through his clothing, and he felt his body betray him once again.  He sought to pull his mind away, but the torment continued, reached back into his memory and drew out the other attack, multiplied it, and overcame him.  Tears leaked down his cheeks.

          The Men noticed.  "Why, I don't think he's enjoying himself much," Boromir smirked.  He reached down to unlace the elf's pants, leaving his lover to work on the elf's upper body.  The Men could feel the elf's struggles, could almost smell his fear.  The crystal tears continued to flow down his perfect cheeks.

          Boromir stood, leaving the elf unsated.  "You know, my dear, I think he might be happier if he were more 'in the middle of things', so to speak."  Aragorn grinned in response, helping his lover finish undressing the squirming elf, then pulled a small box from his pocket.

          "You may not recognize this," the Ranger said conversationally as he removed a small pinch of pale green powder from the box.  He held his open palm below the elf's nose, seeing the pale blue eyes focus briefly on the palmfull before he blew the dust into the archer's face.  "It has two major effects.  You may have noticed that one is complete paralysis.  The other, well…" Aragorn ran a fingernail down the elf's chest and flicked at a nipple, rewarded with a swift intake of breath.  "Extreme sensitivity."  The tears multiplied on the elf's face, the only reaction he could have.

          The Men laughed as they fondled and caressed both their victim and each other.  In their fevered state, actions which should have been nearly excruciating were merely exciting- for them, anyway. 

          Legolas cowered in a small corner of his mind.  He could feel the pain of unprepared entry, the rough friction until his blood provided lubrication, then the torture of pressure on open wounds.  He could hear them, see them, feel all too well as they took their pleasure from his unresponsive body.  Aragorn laughed and licked a tear off the elf's cheek as he thrust forward.  "Our sweet little elf is bitter too, hmm?"

          Legolas fought the paralysis and won a small victory.  He was able to close his eyes against their assault.


	4. Odd Comfort

_This is kinda short, but there's more to come.  Honest._

The Men had left the frozen elf in the clearing.  As they turned to go Strider had tossed his herb pouch onto the cloak they had lain upon.  "Clean yourself up and get back," he ordered.  Then he grinned mockingly.  "And don't forget the wood."

          Legolas lay still for some time, mobility slowly creeping back into his limbs.  His cloak was cold and stiff with blood- his blood.  He gathered his strength and rolled off, onto the soothing earth.  When he could rise, he reluctantly took the herbs and began to treat his injuries.  He no longer wished to live; elves are passionate creatures inside, and can die of mental trauma, especially rape.  He shook himself away from that train of thought.  No matter what his injuries, he had to protect the Hobbits.  He had a duty, to the Fellowship, and to all Middle Earth, to protect the Ring.

          Gimli had been ready to seek Legolas out when the elf finally returned to the clearing bearing an armful of wood and cloth.  He relaxed slightly, seeing that his friend had not needed to be carried back comatose, but tensed again when the elf merely dropped the wood quietly and left again, heading for the river.  He watched from the corner of his eye as he woke Frodo and Sam to keep the watch, then followed the elf.  Legolas' movements seemed odd.  He trailed along as quietly as he could, stopping when he saw the elf at the river's edge.  The starlight shone brightly, and he could easily make out the dark stains the elf was scrubbing from his cloak.  He frowned and stepped forward.  "Elf…" he began, and was baffled as Legolas started in fear.  He scowled inwardly.  Legolas should have heard him coming, should have known he was there.

          "What do you want?" Legolas asked dully, still scrubbing mechanically at the fabric.

          "That's blood.  A lot of it.  And considering where it is, I'm betting it's yours."  The elf made no reply.  "What happened, Legolas?"  Gimli placed a light hand on his shoulder, confused when the elf shied away.  "You have never been afraid of me before.  What is different now?"  Legolas sat still, his scrubbing forgotten.  "Maybe you see someone else beside you."  

          Legolas lowered his head.  The dwarf saw tears glimmer on his pale cheeks.  Reacting as he would to a frightened child, for the elf resembled one despite his years, the dwarf loosely embraced the elf, holding him lightly against his chest, trying to comfort him without making him feel trapped.

          Legolas stiffened at the touch, then collapsed into his new friend's arms.  He would not, he *could* not, turn to the innocent Hobbits for this.  This battle-hardened comrade would be better able to understand the duty that drove him, and the pain he must endure.  

          The dwarf did not ask for explanations.  He simply held the weeping elf in the starlight.

          Legolas watched impassively as the boat carrying Boromir's body disappeared from sight.  He fought to keep his face still as he struggled with his fears.  He had withdrawn since the last incident, speaking only when necessary, sleeping only because the Fellowship needed his eyes and bow.  He glanced now at Aragorn, but the Ranger stood silently, tears on his face.

          An irrational, but very real fear planted itself in the elf's chest.  It would not be unusual for sadness to lash out as anger; he feared what the Man might do.

          In the following days the elf pulled into himself further, focusing only on their hunt. He slept, when necessary, beside Gimli.  In his calmer moments he could almost find it amusing that he would turn to one of a race he had long mistrusted for protection.


	5. Memories

A/N: Special thanks to Cheysuli, who seems to have an entire story planned.  The evil writer's block has been conquered! (At least for now.)

Legolas repositioned his bow and reclined against the tree's trunk, listening to the night sounds around him.  Nothing seemed to indicate danger, so he made himself comfortable on the thick branch and relaxed slightly.  The trio had grudgingly decided to stop for the night, but only because they could not risk missing the trail in the dark.  He needed far less rest than the others, even in this stressful time, so he'd volunteered to watch.  The sooner the Hobbits returned the more secure he'd feel; he was still afraid of the Man's behavior, and knew that Gimli could not always be there to protect him.  With more potential witnesses, perhaps Aragorn would be less than likely to do anything.

          The soothing sounds of unafraid wildlife calmed him, and he let part of his mind drift.  He followed thought trails back to his childhood in Mirkwood, in days before the shadow became so prevalent.  He smiled inwardly as memory followed memory: his first horse, and riding with his father; his first archery lesson- the thrill of finally hitting the bullseye.  The memory of his first introduction to Lord Elrond and his children came with thoughts of the pranks they had played among themselves.  His smile dissolved unnoticed as he remembered his introduction to the human orphan in Elrond's care.  Estel had been a shy child, but had quickly warmed to the archer.  Legolas became a big brother to the boy, transmuting to friendship as the boy became a man.  He'd gotten the surprise of his life when he found that Estel was in fact Aragorn, future King.

          He sighed quietly, reflecting on their past.  Aragorn had always been a good friend, even when they were being annoyed with each other.  He was doubly hurt, then, when the two Men had first assaulted him.  He had not been expecting to have to defend himself against them, and did not wish to do severe damage to them.  They had not held such restraint, and further outnumbered him.  By the time he realized the severity of the situation, it was too late to fight.

          The violation of his body had hurt him, but he had had far worse physical injuries in battle.  It was the mental anguish of his friend's betrayal that had sent his mind into hiding.  He knew Gandalf had cared for him after the fact, but did not remember much of it.  The wizard had not pressed him for explanations, once Legolas had declined to speak.  He remembered full well what the Men had done, but Aragorn was the best tracker and woodsman they had.  Losing him may well have lost lives.  Losing trust in him could have had the same result.

          Gandalf's loss had driven his spirit further down.  He clung desperately to the naive joy the Hobbits seemed to never entirely lose, trying to take it into himself.  He had succeeded only in short bursts, when he could forget what had happened and be, if not happy, at least content.

          The second attack he still cursed himself for.  He had known full well what Aragorn was intending when he sent the archer out for wood, and had still been caught.  His duty to the Fellowship had called him to rise and care for himself when his spirit would have preferred he never rise again.  He'd had periods of painfully heightened sensation for nearly three days following the incident, as the drug worked its way out of his system.

          He'd had another surprise awaiting him that night, one more pleasant.  The dwarf had realized that something was not right, and had taken it upon himself to see to his new friend.  Gimli had held him as he cried that night, allowing Legolas to turn full responsibility to someone else for the time being and simply feel.  The dwarf never mentioned that night, but Legolas knew he was watched, and felt safer from it.

          His thoughts were disturbed by the swift introduction of a rock and his temple.  Dazed, he could not resist as rough hands pulled him from his perch.  One hand covered his mouth; another wrapped around his throat, propelling him forward.  He stumbled as his vision spun.

          Several yards from their campsite, well out of sight, the hands released him with a shove, sending him sprawling.  Confused, he tried to rise, only to be floored again by a kick to his stomach.  He tried to focus bleary eyes on his attacker, and saw just what he had feared.  Aragorn was enraged; despair tinted his eyes.

          "You let him die," the Ranger hissed viciously, kicking the elf again.  "The high and glorious Prince of Mirkwood, too busy saving his own neck to help a friend in need."  Legolas tried to defend himself, but was cut off by a swift blow to the head, adding to the pain he felt there already.  He thought he felt his cheekbone crack, but the punishment to his ribs and stomach, and the pain in his throat, made it impossible to speak, or even cry out.  He could only curl helplessly around his abused middle, his vision still swimming sickeningly as the Man vented his rage.

          Gimli woke to the sound of stumbling feet.  He leapt up and grabbed his axe, and was ready to fight when two figures shuffled into the campsite.  He let the axe fall as he recognized him companions, and rushed forward to help support the injured elf.  Aragorn allowed him to take Legolas, while the Ranger removed several herbs and bandages from various pockets and pouches.  Gimli watched suspiciously as the Man tended Legolas' wounds.  The elf's hand crept to his, and frightened blue eyes met his own brown ones.  Gimli rubbed his thumb soothingly over the elf's hand, and Legolas relaxed, the fear in his eyes lessening, fading eventually into sleep.  Without releasing the elf's hand, he turned to Aragorn.  "What happened?"

          Aragorn studied the sleeping figure, checking his work.  "I woke to Nature's call, and saw him missing.  There was a noise further off, and I followed it to a trio of orcs.  They had overcome him somehow.  They didn't expect me, so I was able to surprise them.  Legolas and I took care of them."

          "Why didn't you call me?  My axe is always eager to taste orc," Gimli told him, keeping his disbelief out of his voice.

          The Ranger didn't meet his eyes, but answered without hesitation.  "There was no time, and I did not wish to alert them to our presence."  He rose abruptly.  "I shall take the watch tonight.  Look over him."

          Gimli narrowed his eyes at the retreating Ranger.  Legolas stirred beside him, and dwarf turned to find pain-filled eyes gazing at him.  He allowed the elf to propel himself into the security of his arms.  Gimli shifted until he was beneath the elf's upper body, while the archer wrapped trembling arms around his comforter.  Gimli waited until his friend's tears had slowed, then carefully tilted the blonde head to look at him.

          "Legolas," he murmured.  The elf looked at him dully.  "Will you tell me?"  He didn't truly expect an answer.  Sure enough, the elf shook his head slowly, looking down.  Gimli accepted this for the moment, but a flash of something prompted him to lift Legolas' chin once again.  He ran a feather-light touch along the heavy bruising on the elf's throat, pulling away with a murmured apology when his friend winced.  The dwarf held onto his friend, letting him burrow back into the haven of scratchy beard.  He had his suspicions, had held them since the night Legolas had returned with a bloody cloak and no visible injuries, but without the elf's cooperation, there was little he could do but watch.  He held the now still elf closer, rocking him gently, and vowed to do everything he could to protect this creature.

-- I don't know what color Gimli's eyes are, but since it's a tiny detail, I just picked one.


	6. Breathe

Ch.6 Breathe 

A/N Welcome back to another round of elf torment.  Does it say something about me that this is what I do for fun?  Maybe it just says something about how painfully dull biology class is, that I have time to write these chapters during the lecture.

Thanks to all the reviewers who let me feel appreciated.

*******       

          'He had nightmares again,' Gimli thought, watching his friend from the corner of his eye.  Legolas' eyes were dull, his movements lacking his usual grace.  Certainly he had reason for ill dreams.  Elves heal quickly, he knew, but the damage from the night before was still painfully obvious.  Legolas could not speak above a whisper without excruciating pain, courtesy of the severe bruising around his neck.  He seemed to find it easier not to speak at all, and communicated through gestures or mouthing his words.

          A soft whistle broke into the dwarf's thoughts, and he turned to the elf.  Legolas indicated a berry plant they were passing, suggesting silently that they grab some fruit for a meal on the run.  Gimli nodded, and the two altered their stride to allow themselves access to the most berries in the least amount of time.  He noticed that Aragorn had a slight scowl on his face at the minute delay, but the Man grabbed a handful of the sweet fruit anyway.

          Both hands full and pockets bulging, the trio resumed their speedy course.  They ate as they ran, frugally to prevent severe reactions from their bodies to too much fruit.  The tangy juice was quite refreshing, keeping their energy up through the long day.

          They stopped again at dusk, unwilling to lose more time but knowing they could not accurately track in the dark.  Gimli, with his dwarvish stamina, was less tired than the Man or the still injured elf.  He offered to stand watch.  Legolas tried to protest, but Gimli pointed out that he would find it difficult to call an alarm should the situation arise.  The elf conceded the point and sat, reclining against a nearby tree.  Very nearby, Gimli noticed absently, and very far from Aragorn.  He snarled silently in the direction of the sleeping Man.  Legolas might not confirm it, but he had suspicions of what was happening, and he had full intents of keeping the two separated.

          The night wore on.  He relaxed only slightly, listening carefully to the quiet night creatures.  A sudden change in the sounds made him tense, eyes darting about to find the cause.  His glance fell on Legolas, and his heart tripped.

          The elf was shaking, hands clawing at his chest and throat as glazed eyes rolled back.  He was choking.

          "Aragorn!" Gimli hissed as he rushed to the elf's side.  He grabbed Legolas' hands, pulling them from his throat to allow the Ranger access.  The elf's eyes were terror filled as he met Gimli's.  The dwarf held his hands reassuringly (he hoped) while the almost forgotten Ranger made a swift examination.  Gimli looked up as Aragorn cursed.

          "His throat is closing, I need to gather some herbs.  Keep him as calm as you can," he ordered before disappearing into the woods.

          Gimli could see the panic rising in the gasping elf and reacted.  He slipped behind the elf and drew him upright against his chest.  The dwarf lay warm palms against the elf's spasming chest, hoping to give some comfort.  It seemed to help.  Legolas was still gasping for air desperately, but the tension in his body lessened.  The archer tried to calm himself, taking comfort in the sturdy support behind him.  A small corner of his mind wondered at his acceptance of this being holding him down, but realized that he had full trust in the dwarf; Aragorn, likely any Man, in this position would have terrified him.

          The Ranger's sudden return startled him, and he jumped instinctively, fighting down the urge to flee as the dwarf cradled him closer.  He leaned his head back against Gimli's shoulder, dizzy from lack of oxygen.  The elf could spare no attention for the Man's proximity, needing to focus on forcing air through his constricting throat.  He barely noticed the small fire Aragorn started, nor the fragrant herbs that he crushed into the boiling water.  He did notice absently that the steam made his breathing easier.

          A firm hand on his chin slammed him aware, and he thrashed against his captor.  Gimli's swift assurances held him in place, but his heart race and his muscles tensed, ready to fight if necessary.  He allowed the dwarf to hold him down as Aragorn held a cup to his lips and tipped a small amount of the herbal drink into his mouth.  Legolas gagged as the liquid hit the obstruction in his throat, glad there was not much liquid to choke on, then felt the blockage open slightly.  He gulped in a larger breath of air, then allowed more liquid to enter his mouth.

          They repeated the process until the cup was empty and Legolas was breathing nearly normally.  The elf's eyes were half-lidded in pain and exhaustion as he took slow, deep breaths, coughing occasionally as his lungs readapted.  Almost without thinking, he leaned back into the dwarf's embrace and fell asleep.

          Gimli hid a relieved smile behind his beard.  His friend would be okay.  Seeing the elf gasping for air had frightened him.  As if Legolas had not suffered enough recently, his injuries were now coming back to haunt him in new ways.  Gimli sighed as the elf burrowed closer.  He realized that he had been more than afraid during those long minutes, he'd been angry.  Here was a threat to his friend's life, and there was nothing he could do about it.  An axe is little use against internal injuries.

          Aragorn stood across the clearing, one hand on his sword hilt.  He knew that luck or fate had placed those herbs close enough for him to save Legolas.  Now he thought back to the elf's injury and reaction.  'We have not seen battle for several days, yet those bruises are fresh.'  He glanced at the sleeping elf, frowning as he thought.  'The bruising matches someone trying to throttle him.' A flash of memory struck: _the back of a blonde head filled his vision; his muscles tightened in response to some movement_.  'There are only three of us' _pushing the elf to the earth, looking down in anger at the glowing figure _'Gimli is nowhere near tall enough to have-' _a rough hand connecting with the elf's frightened face_ 'Dear gods, what have I done?'


	7. Conversation or Pittance from the author

A/N  Sorry about the wait, Aragorn was refusing to feel guilty.  *glares at stubborn Ranger*  Plus, midterms and depression got together and scared my plot away when I wasn't looking. Now there're two chapters floating around my hard drive that I can't use. (Anyone want one, going cheap!)  

Thanks to everyone who keeps reviewing, my ego loves you all.

          Aragorn had been on edge all day, the continuing search for their Hobbit friends warring with his sudden surges of guilt at what he now remembered doing.  The meeting with the Rohan riders barely entered his thoughts, beyond an occasional strain of gratitude for the loan of two horses.  But now the horses were gone, and a white phantom seemed to be at their door.  Gimli had gone to take his own look at the evidence, trying to find sign of either man or beast, despite Aragorn's inability to locate either.  The Ranger decided to take advantage of the moment.

          "Legolas," he said hesitantly, laying a hand on the elf's shoulder.  He was briefly surprised that he had gotten so close, but realized from the elf's startled gasp that Legolas' had been elsewhere.  The archer whirled to face him, one hand going to his dagger.  Aragorn released his shoulder and dropped back a step defensively, trying to placate his companion.

          "What do you want, Aragorn?" Legolas asked shortly.  Aragorn hid a shudder at the ill-disguised fear and hate in the harsh voice.

          "We need to talk," the Man said cautiously.  

          Legolas made a disbelieving sound.  "I hardly think that speech will recover what is lost between us, Strider."  The elf turned to move away, but Aragorn made a desperate grab and caught one thin wrist.  He could not lose this opportunity, he had to repair the damage he'd inflicted.

          "Legolas, please-"

          "Let him go," came a gruff order.  Gimli's reappearance surprised the Man into releasing his hold.  Legolas pulled his arm away and moved to the dwarf's side, indicating that he would stand watch.  Aragorn stood silently, rage and shame burning in his chest.  His opportunity had vanished.

          He watched as the dwarf gently caught the same hand and pulled back the sleeve.  The Man shuddered openly at the finger-shaped bruises already forming on the archer's pale skin.  Legolas tried to yank his arm back, but the dwarf murmured something too low for the Ranger to hear and the elf desisted.  Gimli applied some of the all purpose salve they all carried for minor injuries, speaking quietly to his friend as he went.  Finished, he released the elf, who disappeared up a nearby tree to watch for trouble.  Aragorn waited in apprehension as the shortest of the trio approached him, clearly intending to have words with him.

          "What the hell was that?" Gimli demanded angrily.  "I step away for two minutes, and you're at him again!"

          "I- need to talk to him," Aragorn replied weakly, realizing how pathetic he sounded.

          Gimli obviously agreed with the Man's self-evaluation, snorting in disgust.  "And to talk you must leave bruises?"  He did not allow the Man to reply.  "You've hurt him enough, I'll wager.  I've seen marks on his skin before, and I can certainly find the ones on his soul to match.  Physical harm can be forgiven, but betrayal leaves wounds much harder to heal."  The dwarf took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.  "Stay away from Legolas," he warned.  "If he wishes to speak to you, it will be on his terms, in his own time.  You will not inflict yourself upon him just to soothe your troubled mind."  The dwarf settled himself below the tree Legolas had mounted, still sending evil glances at the Ranger.  No one slept much that night.

^^^^^^^

_Yes, very very short.  Sorry, but I wanted to put something up.  I got a new idea tonight, but I don't know how long it'll take to write, so here this is.  Plus, I'm finally going to get to see TTT tomorrow night, maybe I'll be inspired._


	8. Surprises and Fears

A/N- Sorry!  This was not supposed to take this long.  School was eeeeeeevil, and I just haven't had the time.  Besides, I had to pull my ego out of the stratosphere from all the lovely reviews I've gotten.

_Just wanted to say something minor here.  I just received a comment on something from my first author's note, to the effect of_"canon is more or less a minor concern." AArgh! _Just wanted to clarify that I said that to cover any major glaring errors I make in plot / time lines and because our beloved Tolkein never put his characters through the wonderful things I have._

_One more thing and__I'll shut up, honest.  I decided that it would make sense for scouts to have a system of hand signals that they could use to communicate silently.  Since Legolas would have been a scout at some point, and Aragorn's a Ranger, I decided they both know them.  Just assume Gandalf knows everything ;) and Gimli's a fast learner._

:hand signs:__

          Legolas kept his watch from the sturdy branches of his tree.  The calm whispers of the forest soothed him, allowing some of the strain of the day's encounters to bleed away.  Here he was safe, here he could keep track of those who might harm him.

          The encounter with the Riders had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.  While intellectually he knew that asking for news from local informants was simply good sense, his heart would have been content to simply melt away into the tall grasses until the Men had passed.  Being surrounded by warriors who had the advantages of numbers and knowledge of the plains was not something he would ever wish to experience again.

          His mind had shifted away from the current situation, trying to convince itself that these Men were not necessarily anything like those he had traveled with.  He had half convinced himself by this point that the influence of the Ring had driven his longtime friend to commit those terrible acts; this knowledge, however, did not allow for forgiveness, at least not yet.  Aragorn had not come near him since treating him the night before.  On the rare occasion that their eyes met, Legolas thought he saw a hint of fear in the Man's face, mixed with regret and pain.  It meant nothing to him; the soul that felt that regret should never have caused the situation to begin with.

          His thoughts had been interrupted by sudden movement on the plains.  Almost before he was fully conscious of his actions, he found his bow drawn and strung, an arrow inches from the lead Rider's throat.  As the faceoff continued he became aware that he had acted to protect Gimli, and that the other Riders were directing their spears at him alone.  Aragorn's interference calmed the situation, and he lowered his bow to hide the shaking of his hands.  He lay one hand on the dwarf's shoulder, as if restraining him from irritating the Men again; that contact gave him enough security in his mind to keep it from snapping, though as the discussions went on it became a close thing.

          A change in the whispers of the forest saved him from his introspection.  He listened for long moments, both to the voices of the trees and for any sound of the intruder they spoke of.  A brief glimpse of a white robe showed him what he sought, and he leapt lightly down the tree to wake his companions, tamping down fear.  Fear was only a hazard in battle; it must be understood, acknowledged, and overcome.  His fear of the Man sleeping below him was weighed against the unknown being he had seen, and found to be less threatening.  The dwarf woke as he landed, and he hushed any questions before they started, before stepping lightly over to the lightly dozing Ranger.

          Aragorn found himself woken almost obscenely early the next morning, even by his standards.  He looked up in surprise to see the elf so near him voluntarily, but said nothing as Legolas indicated he should remain silent.

          :There is someone/thing out there: the elf hand-signed.  

          Aragorn rose to his feet silently.  :Who/where?:

          :The white wizard:

          Aragorn cursed mentally, noticing with minor relief that Gimli had already been woken and was as well prepared as possible in this situation.  :Do not let him speak, he will trap/hurt you:  Legolas nodded shortly; Gimli tightened his grip on his axe.  The trio gathered back to back at the center of the clearing.

          Legolas never could remember the exact sequence of events that followed, only the moment of realization.  Mithrandir he whispered in disbelief, falling to his knees as the shock drained his strength.  The wizard's face went vacant for a moment, as if trying to recall something difficult.  

          "Yes, that was one of my names, wasn't it?" the wizard murmured thoughtfully, and smiled.  "I was Mithrandir, and Gandalf."

          Legolas shook his head repeatedly in denial.  "No, you can't be, you died, I saw you.  You fell in Moria."  His hands fluttered helplessly, repeating his expressions in the hand-sign he was now so accustomed to.

          Gandalf's expression saddened, and he went to the stricken elf, crouching down beside him.  Legolas shied away, and the wizard made no move to stop him.  "Yes, Legolas, I fell, but it is indeed me here with you now.  I battled the balrog and emerged mostly alive.  Gwaihir, the Eagle Lord, carried me from the mountain, and I forged this new life from the ashes of my old one.  And now I am here with you," he repeated, placing a solid hand on the elf's shoulder.  He was shocked when Legolas pulled away violently, leaping to his feet in a defensive posture.

          :No: he signed decisively.  :You are/were dead.  I saw.  I know:

          The wizard stood helplessly, uncertain what to do.  "Legolas, I know what you saw, what you think you saw.  It is true, any other would have perished in that fall.  But I had my magic to aid me, and a journey to fulfill.  I could not die when I am still needed."  
          Legolas finally met his eyes, then raised a shaking hand to touch the wizard's face.  Gandalf held still, not certain what would set off the elf's fears again.  Satisfied with the firm reality, Legolas began to sob silently, falling to his knees.  Gandalf sat beside him, whispering gently soothing words.

Whether it was the strength of his emotions or some work of the wizard Legolas fell quickly into dreaming.

          Aragorn and Gimli had watched in silence, each pondering their own thoughts.  Now they spoke quietly with their returned friend, sharing what had transpired since Moria.  The wizard listened intently, but Aragorn thought more than once that Gandalf knew more about their travels than he let on.  His thoughts were more or less confirmed a moment later.

          "You need not seek for the Hobbits now, they are safe in the forest.  Your company will be put to better use in Edoras.  The influence of Saruman is strong upon King Theoden, and if we are to succeed it is likely we will require his aid.  It is very early yet," the wizard said, suddenly looking to the slowly lightening sky.  "Take rest, and we will leave when you have woken."

          Both Ranger and dwarf knew it was useless to argue the point, and truthfully, after the stressful night before neither cared to.  They slid back into their respective sleeping areas, and for the first time in days rested peacefully.

          Legolas drifted in a strange twirl of reality, dream and memory.  He faintly heard the voices of his companions planning their further journey, but the portion of his mind that ruled conscious thought decided it was not vital at this time.  His body rested as his inner mind flew.  Gandalf- how could the wizard have returned?  Certainly this was devilry of Saruman, or the Dark Lord; else perhaps he was simply losing his mind.  But Aragorn and Gimli believed, and while Aragorn clearly was a foul judge of some things, he was certainly capable of identifying the one who had taught him so much of his herb lore.  Unless Aragorn was just trying to trick him-

          'No,' he told himself.  'I cannot continuously doubt what I see and feel.  Mithrandir seems true to me, I must believe something.  And Gimli has never betrayed me; he would not play along to any plot to harm me.  So Gandalf truly it alive, then.  '

          He puzzled over this bit of information, before deciding that the wizard was probably powerful enough to pry himself from death's clutches.  But- and here his heart stopped.

          Gandalf was powerful, true, but alone even he was no match for the power Sauron commanded.  The Dark Lord had controlled his Ring for ages, and likely had influenced the Men in their assaults upon him.  If Gandalf could rise from the dead, with his limited abilities, what was to stop another from doing it as well?  Certainly Sauron had essentially done so before, and even now was gathering power.  What was to stop him from resurrecting his servants, and setting them back upon their courses?  What was to stop the creature from returning Boromir to life?

          That thought sent him rocketing towards wakefulness, gasping.  His sudden movement caught the attention of the others, who seemed to have been talking quietly over Lembas.  Their eyes felt heavy on him, and he cringed away almost imperceptibly as he rose.  Bracing himself inwardly, annoyed at his weakness, he made to ask about the day's plans, but found himself unable to speak.  Sighing in frustration, hoping it was once again a temporary loss, he gathered himself and asked, :Plans?:

_Good, bad, ugly?  Let me know!_


	9. Gold and Darkness

_A/N Okay everyone, gasp in shock.  I updated!  Yes, I know, I'm setting new slow records.  Blame it on…um…solar flares?  Or the fact that in order to find out where to go next I have to wade through Tolkein's writing.  He's a genius, yes, but a very **wordy** genius._

_            Thanks for the review type thingies!  My ego loves you all.  Send suggestions if you like, there's still another week or so of plotline available for trauma and such._

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          Edoras, and the golden hall of Meduseld, were stunning tributes to the arts and skills of Men.  It was lost upon Legolas, who rode silently beside his companions.  The citizens of this land were unacquainted with his kind and were unsubtle in their stares.  He could feel their eyes on him, the attention like so many insects crawling over his shoulders.  It only added to his tension and apprehension.  No eyes would meet his as he searched the surrounding buildings and lanes for signs of danger.  In particular, sought one Man.

          He tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous, that Boromir was dead and would remain that way, that the Ring was far away and not in a position to influence the Ranger at his side.  But his heart could not heed his mind.  Once conditioned, a creature would follow its master's instructions.  A hunting hawk did not cease its tasks when at a distance from its trainer; it would be useless if this were so.  And if a mere mortal, or even an elf, if a creature of no exceptional power could bring to bear that sort of influence, how could he rest safe from one with more power and malice than any other?  When a kind creature like Mithrandir could return from the arms of death, how could that spectre contain a being whose master relied on magic of any kind?

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          Aragorn followed Gandalf's lead as they entered the city, trying to project a calm and friendly air, keeping his hands far from the weapons at his belt and saddle.  With one eye he watched the crowd, which parted before the strangers as they wound their paths slowly towards the Hall.  He did not expect any dangers here, but in dark times one must harbor dark thoughts.

          His thoughts had all been dark of late, he mused.  Meeting with a seemingly reborn Gandalf had pulled away some of the dark cloud he had floated in, even as it had added to another one.  Legolas' reactions to the resurrection had reminded him only too well of the damage that had been done to the elf's psyche, and he was painfully aware of his part in causing that hurt.

          While Legolas had slept, finally, the Ranger had drawn their fourth off a little way…

.

.

          _"I am glad to see you, old friend," Aragorn said hesitantly._

_          Gandalf's eyebrow rose.  "Ah?  Yet you seem rather uneasy with such events."_

_          Aragorn-- fidgeted, was the only real description.  It was an odd action in a Ranger, who usually would have complete control over his actions and be nearly elvishly graceful about them.  He looked nothing less than a child about to admit to stealing all the cookies from the last baking._

_          "Legolas' condition…" he began, and trailed off.  _

_          The wizard raised a questioning brow.  "I had noticed he is…ill at ease.  I had thought time enough had passed for improvement."  He left it at that, waiting to see what the Ranger would tell him._

_          "It's my fault!" Aragorn burst out suddenly.  "Mine and Boromir's."  And the whole story poured out, from the time he'd first felt the Ring's presence around him, to the first time the Gondorian had approached him, all smiles and tenderness.  To his rage and confusion while engaging with the other Man.  To the pain he had felt when his partner had died, and what he had done about it.  He didn't spare himself, leaving out no details, as horrid as they were.  By the end of his narrative he was wrung out, seated against a tree as if that were all holding him upright.  His head was hung in shame and self-loathing, unwilling and unable to meet the wizard's eyes._

_          Gandalf remained silent, unmoving.  His thoughts raced about, as his eyes rested on the slumbering elf.  Reluctantly, he came to a decision.  "Whether your actions were entirely outwardly motivated or otherwise, you are still responsible.  You will likely be a part of the recovery process, although not for some time I think."_

_          Gandalf looked to the slowly stirring form of the elf and sighed.  "Unfortunately, there is not time for him now.  All of Middle Earth relies on events of the next few days, and we must play a part in them.  I will do what may be done as we ride, but we must to Theoden's aid as soon as he rises.  I only hope that this damage _can_ be healed.  Elven souls are of light, as you should know.  His has not faced so much dark in his lifetime, and now it comes all at once.  A flood where little rain has fallen."  He sighed again, studying something Aragorn could not see.  "We must do what we can."_

_._

_._

          There had been no time since then for the wizard to confront Legolas.  Aragorn did his best to stay a safe distance from the elf, wishing that he could go back and prevent himself from being such a fool.  A dark corner of his mind tried to urge him to confront the elf again, saying that clearly the immortal was inferior and weaker, meant to be dominated.  Aragorn ruthlessly crushed that thought, recognizing the foul taint of Mordor in it.  It was the feeling he had gotten around that damned ring, and now that he knew it, he would never again allow it to touch him.  An involuntary glance at the elf behind him made him wonder if that resolve wasn't too late.

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          Gimli had never prided himself on being sensitive to people's feelings.  Sure, he could tell at a glance if a sheet of rock held a flaw, or sense the slightest tremor in the stone, but when it came to emotions he was generally lost.  It was a novel idea to him, then, when he realized that Legolas might as well be carrying a large sign with his fear displayed on it.  From the moment the doorguard Hama had demanded they leave their weapons, the low-level nervousness the elf had contained had magnified into sheer terror.  Gimli tried to see it from his friend's eyes.

          'He looks around and sees dozens who would hurt him given the slightest provocation, and remembers what a _friend_ did to him.  Of course he fears them, stupid dwarf!  Is it not obvious?  And now unarmed…surely he has had training without weapons, but against an armed warrior that training is often useless.'  He watched Legolas covertly as they placed their weapons gently against the wall.  The elf seemed to be toying with some thought, and Gimli thought he knew what it was.  'Even I am unarmed now, who have defended him in the past.  He fears to be vulnerable.'  He lay a hand on the elf's trembling arm, trying to calm him.  Legolas smiled slightly at him, his shivering lessening the least bit, and he pulled out the hidden dagger he carried in his boot, adding it to the pile.

          :Can't think elves are deceivers: he signed bravely, as if afraid to trust his voice not to quiver.  Gimli simply nodded, having some idea how hard it had been for Legolas to lay down his last weapon.

          Aragorn, on the other hand, was highly displeased at this turn of events, and his arguments distracted the guards.  Gimli rolled his eyes and Legolas' eyes danced in agreement as his hands and breathing steadied.  Gandalf glanced at the two from the corner of his eye and winked, leaving Legolas coughing to hide a snicker.

          Gimli knew that this was only a temporary reprieve, that his friend was not so healed as he seemed now, but enjoyed the sight of laughter filling the bright creature's eyes.  Laughter, he suspected, was as good a weapon as an axe, and better against intangible foes.  He vowed to make the elf laugh as often as possible in the future.

          Aragorn's arguments had finally desisted, as he bowed to custom.  Gandalf, with his silver tongue, was a bit more successful.

          "Is this the courtesy of Theoden's Hall?  I am old.  It is the privilege of age to need help walking.  Will you deny me?"

          Hama looked at him with an odd expression on his face, as if he wanted to accuse the wizard of playing tricks but did not quite dare, while simultaneously being amused at this act.  He acquiesced calmly, indicating that the guards should open the doors.  The wizard winked again at his companions, before leading the way into the dim interior.

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^^^ 

          _The doors swung closed behind him, enfolding him in darkness as the few guttering torches fought to light the wide hall.  Legolas jumped at the sound, looking around nervously as the shadows crept toward him.  Over the flickering gloom lay a thick, choking layer of something darker than blackness and more oppressive than heat.  He recognized it, and could not hold back the scream that erupted as the touch of Mordor crept across his skin…_

          Legolas woke suddenly, gasping.  He sat up quickly, taking in his surroundings, assuring himself it had been a dream.  'Well, mostly a dream,' he thought uncomfortably.  Rising, he slipped silently to the window, turned his face to the stars.  A chill breeze brushed his skin, tracing light paths through the lingering darkness that clung to him tenaciously.

          Although not cold, he shivered.  Gandalf had freed the human king from his spell trapment, dispelling the focus of evil in the hall.  He shuddered again at the dream memory of its touch.  He could feel it even now, the warped shadows grasping at him, searching for a weakness, for a path in.  The elf fought the invasion silently, determined that his mind and soul would not be violated as his body had too recently.

          Evil is persistent, but everything will lean towards the simplest path.  Against the active opposition the shadows had no chance, and slid away to seek an easier target.  Legolas relaxed minutely, his breath coming in desperate gulps as he watched/felt the whirlwind swirl away from him…and focus on Aragorn.  The sleeping Ranger was completely unaware of the invasion.

          'Like calls to like,' came a hysterical whisper in the elf's brain.  He could only stare in horror as the wraiths surged forward in malicious glee, recognizing something in the slumbering Man.  Legolas finally wrenched control over his body from the shock that had stolen it, and did the only thing he could think of.

          He ran.  His thoughts churned in terror.

          'Not again notagain nomore…'

          The door slammed behind him.

.

.

          He found himself in an open courtyard, surrounded by the dead and dying flowers of a fading season.  Had he been in a more reasonable state he might have found it fitting, but his thoughts remained focused inward.  His footsteps echoed faintly in the silent space, barely audible even to elven ears as he fled.

          'The darkness will take him again.  It will control him.  I cannot survive that again, I cannot allow myself to fall beneath that touch again.  I cannot…"

          A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye, and he twisted desperately into a defensive stance.  He was met by still silence, broken only by the pounding of his heart.  The darkness crept closer in his peripheral vision, taunting him, always vanishing when he turned to face it.  Every sound, every movement in the night became his demons, the creatures of Mordor come to claim him or drive his once friend against him again.

          Distant footsteps caught his ear and he froze in terror, a cry choked in his throat.  The sound ceased abruptly, as if the pedestrian knew he had been caught out.  In his mind he saw two predators, Human and rough, crouched amongst their shadow-kin, ready to pounce.  The shadows in his mind roared in triumph and rose against him, to be met by

          _light._

          _'My dear boy, what has been done to you'_

          Help? Comfort…pain.  No, don't… 

_          Warmth?  No! Touch…away, away!_

_          Restraint- different, calm…safe.  _

_          Friend…light._

The light in his mind rose, and blossomed, and eclipsed the darkness, and he fell into its welcoming embrace.

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          Gimli found him in the courtyard.  The dwarf approached slowly, as quietly as a dwarf ever could.  He was under no illusions that he would  match an elf or even the Ranger in stealth, but Legolas did not acknowledge his friend's approach.  At first glance he appeared to be sleeping.  Gimli looked searchingly at his friend's glazed eyes, wondering why the elf had retreated outdoors to sleep, rather than remain with his companions.

          "Legolas," he called quietly, not wanting to startle the archer.  He was surprised at the lack of reaction.  Not a flicker of recognition appeared in the clear eyes.  "Legolas?" he asked, louder this time.  Dark shadows seemed to dance his friend's eyes, taunting him.

          Gandalf's approach, while louder than the dwarf's, still yielded no results.  "I see you have found our wayward friend," the wizard said briskly.  "Come, we need to…"  He focused sharply on the dwarf.  "What is it?" he asked, almost harshly.

          Gimli frowned slightly.  "He…something is wrong," he finally said.

.

          The dwarf watched the two from his seat in the corner.  Aragorn stood just beyond the doorway, half hidden in the shadows.  Gandalf had led the complacent elf to a nearby chamber, and was in the process of performing a brief examination.  Legolas had not reacted to any stimuli, despite a definitive lack of physical damage.  His eyes reacted, his limbs functioned, but nothing seemed to be reaching the elf's inner self.  He was less than a child, able to move on his own but disinclined to do so.  Even the sudden clang of a dropped platter had not disturbed him, though the others had jumped in startlement.

          'This is not what we need now, on the edge of war,' Gimli thought grumpily.  Then he felt ashamed.  'Will I now put blame on the wind for blowing?  The elf has not done this to spite us.  Something must have happened in the night to drive him inwards once again.  But this…somehow, seeing him like this is worse than mere unconsciousness.'

          He watched as the wizard completed his examination, with no visible result.  Legolas was locked securely within himself.  Gandalf rose wearily, turning to face Gimli.  The dwarf only then realized that the lady Eowyn had entered the room at some point and was seated beside him, looking concerned.  He ignored her for now.

          "Well?" he demanded.

          "It is as we feared; he has hidden from this world.  I do not know what could have driven him from us, but we cannot afford delay.  I ask you two to watch him during our travels.  I will have a word with Theodan and his men as well; they must be made aware that Legolas is as a child for now."  He left the room muttering to himself before either could react, drawing Aragorn with him.  The Man hesitated a moment, eyes fixed on the unmoving elf, before disappearing down the hall as well.

          Gimli grumbled half-heartedly about playing caretaker to a fool elf, but was mildly relieved that he would be remaining near his friend, able to care for him.  Eowyn was not so pleased.

          "As I am a woman, of course I shall play nursemaid," she snarled.  Gimli choked on a laugh at their parallel thoughts and she whirled on him.  "I suppose you are entertained by this!  No doubt little Eowyn will be left at the bedside when danger nears, to be protected.  Poor delicate lady…"

          "I have never doubted a warrior's skill, no matter their sex," he interrupted, and had to hide a smile at the shock on her face.  "Among my people all are warriors; I see no reason why this should not be the case in other races.  Should your skill at blades rival your expertise with a sharp tongue your enemies would do well to fear you!"

          He couldn't hide his chuckle this time, as she blushed furiously.


	10. Into the stone

_A/N:  Look, I haven't disappeared from the earth!  So very sorry about the six thousand year wait, but school is insane right now._

_Happy Birthday to me, and as a gift I give you this lovely new chapter._

_Major thanks to seeing-spots for reminding me to keep writing, and keeping me sane while I did it __J__  And the scene near the end is for Cheysuli because I enjoy pandering to my faithful reviewers (all four of them)._

_._

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          Gimli sighed in silent relief as the gates of Helm's Deep closed behind them.  The ride had been unnerving, seated behind Legolas as though nothing were wrong.  They had been worried as to how the elf would travel, but his disconnection from reality did not seem to extend to their horses.  The riding arrangements had remained as always, since with the possible exception of Shadowfax none of the horses could carry a Human and dwarf as well.  Gimli's compact but dense build was countered by Legolas' light form- able to walk on the crust of snow, his weight made barely more impact than the sun and wind.

          Some swift experimentation had proven that Legolas was effectively blind and deaf to the world, but could be physically coaxed to action.  Gimli had had to swallow his dislike of horses as he led the quiet archer to Arod.  From there he had had no idea what to do, but Arod seemed to recognize his friend, and nuzzled at the elf's cheek.  A faint smile had brushed over Legolas' lips and he had embraced the horse's neck happily.  Getting him into the saddle had been easy after that, although he still did not acknowledge any of the other riders.

          Now, safe behind thick stone walls, Gimli felt some of his tension fade away.  This he knew, heavy boundaries hewn over the ages, depths unfathomable without dwarven knowledge.  Legolas would be as safe here as could be in these dark times, and perhaps time could be found to seek out the elf's injured soul.

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          From his mental refuge, Legolas was only vaguely aware of events.  Arod had been a welcome sight, though his vision wavered shakily at the edges and shadows attempted to conquer him.  He knew abstractly that something was not right, but in his cocoon of light could not be bothered to find it out.

          They rode.  He had recognized the easy rhythm of horse beneath him, and a familiar weight behind him, grumbling something just outside his understanding.  Almost he leaned toward it, until a flash of near recognition swept him from the side.  He pulled back from the spectre, afraid.  In that moment of clarity he found himself once more surrounded by Men, strangers all.  The incident with the Riders on the plains of Rohan had not left him; he had acted instinctively to protect his friend, and nearly found himself impersonating a hedgehog for his efforts.  He had been surprised when Aragorn intervened, had not known what to do next.  That moment of indecision left his mind free to roam, and he had been suddenly struck with the realization that he was surrounded by armed, hostile strangers.  He remembered freezing in terror and remaining that way until the circle of Men dissolved, and even then had moved only when Arod had approached him curiously.  No matter what he feared, no matter who had hurt him, he could not turn away from the gentle creatures he so loved.  Even now, with the fear of Aragorn's twice-shadowed heart and the promised battle, he could not help but take some small comfort from his stallion.

          Riding into Helm's Deep chilled him nonetheless.  As the walls of stone closed around him, and the milling crowds overwhelmed his senses, he felt a wave of terror threaten to bury him.  His defenses thickened even as they fell, trying desperately to protect him against a hopeless onslaught.  Amidst all these humans, how could he avoid his phantom stalker?  No one here would find it odd if he were accosted; none would stop a fellow Man from indulging curiosity about the graceful being.  Not even his trusted companion could be relied upon here; Gimli was one soul among hundreds.

          The dark corridors made his watch harder still.  Flickering at the edge of his awareness were the shadow demons he had come to associate with pain and humiliation.  The torches on all sides did little to illuminate the place.  He closed his eyes briefly to shut out the frightening sights.  Then opened them again as the darkness behind his lids seemed to team with life.

          'Peace,' his mind reminded him as the now familiar wall erected itself between him and reality, 'they can only hurt you if you touch.  Stay away, don't feel, don't act, and they can't harm you.  Remain in the light, it is your comfort.'

          In this dark hall, he clung to that knowledge, even as the darkness shoved him further away.  Lurching back in terror as the shadows overwhelmed him, he clutched at the bright shield that had protected him and wrapped himself in shining oblivion.

.

          Gimli felt the elf shudder as they dismounted, and was both concerned and encouraged.  He hesitantly placed his hand on archer's arm and was almost pleased when Legolas recoiled.  At least there was something left in his friend's mind _to_ react.  He reached out again, and gently took the elf's hand.  This time there was no reaction, and he sighed a little in disappointment before leading his friend toward the quarters they had been assigned.

          The small room was practically bare, with two small cots, a table, and two chairs.  A small oil lamp burned on the table.  Pragmatic as always Gimli reasoned that it was an improvement over sleeping in the woods and rain.  He led Legolas to the far cot and gently urged him to lie down.  Whether the elf needed to sleep or not, considering how similar his constant state seemed to elvish sleep, he would not be harmed by lying down through the night. 

          As he moved his own cot into a protective stance against the door, he mused that here, in the depths of stone, they needn't worry about a flame leading an enemy to them.  Almost on a whim, Gimli left their tiny lamp burning as he settled down.  'Let it be a beacon of hope or something poetic to everyone else; it is a sign that we are as safe as any may be in these times,' he thought gruffly, and drifted off.

          His sleep was broken by screams.  He was out of his bedding and wielding his faithful axe before even realizing two things: the lantern was out, making it difficult to see anything, and…

          And Legolas was screaming.

          Years of training had taught him never to drop his weapon, but only those instincts kept it near him as he rushed toward his friend, guided by the faint light of the elven body.  No physical mark was on the elf, no attacker visible.  He allowed the axe to rest against the wall and tried desperately to lend some comfort.

          "Legolas, wake up!" he commanded, knowing it was likely to be ignored.  Sure enough, the screaming went on uninterrupted, if anything getting shriller.  The elf was shaking in what he imagined was fear.  Remembering the last time they had been in a similar situation- 'Although it was much quieter that time'- he tried to wrap his arms around the quivering archer.  Legolas did not pull away as he had earlier, and Gimli took this as a sign that comfort would not be turned away, at the least.  He leaned in toward the cot, pulling his friend against him slowly, ready to let go should he show any new fears.

          He was vaguely aware of a commotion outside the door, of shouts and confusion and two familiar voices.  He couldn't be bothered to go to them, too busy holding the uneasy form beside him.  Legolas' screams had died down a little, but he had a sinking feeling that it was only due to his throat being sore from excessive usage.  He held tightly to the quaking form as unknown phrases burbled into the dark room, calling for something he could not understand.  

          The door finally gave way to its attackers, sending Aragorn across the half-collapsed cot to the floor.  Even as he got back to his feet Gandalf entered the doorway, staff spilling light over the scene.

          Legolas stilled immediately, turning slightly, so slightly Gimli would not have noticed had they not been so close, towards the illumination.

          "What is it?" demanded Aragorn, glaring around the room as though an assailant were waiting in the corners.

          Gimli shrugged slightly before answering, "I think it may have been the darkness."  He was met by a blank stare from the Ranger, and a thoughtful one from the wizard.  "He calmed when Gandalf brought the light."

          "He's afraid of the dark?!" the Man exclaimed, bordering on contempt.  "Of all the-"  He broke himself off, breathing slowly for a moment.  "I'm sorry, that was unkind of me."

          Gimli privately agreed, and growled under his breath, even as Gandalf waved the Man off.  The wizard approached the bed, brightening the glow just the least bit.  He was rewarded by the peaceful expression that settled on Legolas' face.  "It seems that your assessment is correct, Gimli."

          "Where would this- I mean, he's never shown any signs before…" Gimli floundered, confused.

          Gandalf studied the elf, checking his eyes for any sign of recognition.  "We do not know what sent his mind into hiding.  I can only assume that this is a related symptom."

          "So what now?  We cannot control the sun," Aragorn pointed out sharply.  Then his voice softened and he ran a hand wearily over his face.  "Again, forgive me.  I am overtired and not thinking.  What can we do?  These fits can not be helping his recovery."

          Gandalf nodded as he considered.  "For now- I would say we obtain a larger lamp and ensure that it remains filled overnight.  If fortune is with us we will be far from here shortly."

.

          They did as the wizard had suggested, acquiring one of the large lamps from the main hall to set on their small table.  Legolas had not moved again once the steady stream of light had been assured.  His breathing had calmed and his body relaxed, until Gandalf judged that he was truly asleep.  He and Aragorn departed shortly after, leaving Gimli to his broken sleep.

          After the events of the night before Gimli found he had slept in far later than he had intended.  He woke to a stray sunbeam in his eyes and a rumble in his stomach.  Sitting up he saw that their lamp was still burning cheerfully.  In fact, nothing seemed to have been disturbed since the wizard and Ranger had left.  Rising, popping stiff joints as he went, he discovered a covered basket just inside the ruined doorway.  His stomach gave another growl when it realized the cover hid an assortment of breakfast items.

          "Looks like we're being well taken care of today, elf," he said with forced cheer.  Then again, considering how long it'd been since they'd eaten last, it wasn't hard to muster enthusiasm for good food.  Placing the basket on the table, he moved to Legolas' side.  The elf had not moved; not a surprise, he mused, but a bit disappointing anyway.  Trying to decide if the glaze over Legolas' eyes was still sleep or merely his detachment, he studied the still form.  A glimmer of an idea came to him.  Retrieving a fresh, still warm muffin from the basket, he waved it temptingly under his friend's nose.  A discrete sniff showed that at the least the archer was aware of his inanimate surroundings.  Gimli smiled triumphantly and helped the elf sit before handing him the muffin.  Legolas did not react to the movement, nor to the dwarf's presence, but did begin to eat.  'Well, at least he's not going to starve,' Gimli told himself, and sat down to enjoy his portion.

.         

          Eowyn came in a short time later.  "You're wanted in the main hall," she said with barely concealed anger.  "They want your input on the defense plans."

          Gimli hid his amusement at the way she specifically refused to add, "Because you're male."  "Will you stay with Legolas for now?" he asked instead.  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.  "I do not trust leaving him alone in this state.  He is defenseless, while you are anything but.  And," he added slyly, "it will be easier to tell you the outcome of this planning session if I know where you are."

          She smiled wryly, obviously remembering that in him she had an ally.  He chuckled at that, and she stuck her tongue at him in an incredibly juvenile fashion before taking the vacated seat beside Legolas. He heard her beginning a one-sided conversation as he went.

.

.

          It was past dark when he finally made his way back down their corridor.  They had argued and discussed and planned for hours, before deciding that no decisions could be made at the time.  Gimli just rolled his eyes, muttering, "Humans," under his breath.  He hurried his step, realizing that he hadn't told Eowyn of Legolas' fears of the shadows.  Although, with his less-than-mild reactions, surely she would have noticed?

          Scenarios of chaos played through his mind.  He found that he needn't have worried, though.  The small room was well lit when he arrived.  He blinked in surprise to see Legolas missing from the small bed, and blinked again when he found the elf relocated to a chair beside the table.  Eowyn smiled at him as she rose from the second chair, laying down a rough comb as she finished twining a strand of hair.

          "You got him to move?" Gimli asked gruffly, a bit put out.  He felt strangely resentful that his friend would react to others.  Eowyn's smile simply widened as she shook her head.

          "He moved himself!" she said delightedly.

          Gimli was certain he'd misheard.  "What?"

          She nodded, still grinning.  "Just around sunset he started getting a little twitchy.  I was about to go find you when I heard him get up.  He just wandered over and filled the lamp, then lit it and sat down.  He hasn't moved since, but it's still an improvement, right?"

          He nodded dazedly.  "Did he acknowledge you?"

          She sobered.  "No.  In fact, I don't think he was aware of anything but the lamp.  He half tripped over the cot, then kicked the chair accidentally.  I don't think he even noticed that I was here."

          Gimli nodded, mildly disappointed despite the seeming improvement.  Eowyn tied off the braid she'd been finishing as she approached him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "He _is_ improving, Sir Dwarf.  We must be patient."

          He nodded grudgingly.  She stepped back and began a braiding a second strand of her long hair.  Gimli's eyes darted from the hypnotic twists she made to the tangled and matted hair of his friend.  Certainly Legolas had not been in a state to take care of it.  He looked back at her.  "Show me how to do that," he demanded.

          Eowyn raised a brow in surprise, then shrugged and motioned him closer.  He shared what he had heard at the mostly useless meeting while she forced his thick fingers through the repetitive patterns of the more elaborate braids.  If she thought it odd to be teaching a dwarf fancy hair twists, she made no further comment on the fact.

          Approaching footsteps broke their concentration.  Gimli dropped the plait he'd been working as though it had become a firebrand, glad his beard and the lamplight hid the flush he was sure was there.  She smoothly caught the strand and calmly finished it as King Theoden appeared in the doorway.

          "Any change?" he asked quietly.

          Gimli shared a brief glance with Eowyn before replying.  "Very little.  He rose and lit the lamp earlier, but so far has not reacted to either of us, nor anything but light and shadow."

          Theoden nodded slowly, acknowledging that an unasked question had been answered.  Legolas was not likely to be recovered enough to be helpful in the attack.  He knew it seemed callous of him, but he truly wished the elf would suddenly be whole again, in part for his own sake, but also- and, if he were truthful, mostly- for the benefit of his people.  The archers of Rohan were well trained, but he did not fool himself to think they could match elven eyesight and skill.  The fair archer's skill would have been a great assistance.

          Well, he could only pray for them all.  "Eowyn, would you come with me?" he said, changing topics abruptly.  She nodded and rose, giving her hand to the dwarf and grasping it lightly, encouragingly.  "Master Dwarf, if you will excuse me."

          He returned the light grip.  "I thank you for all that you have already done, lady," he replied gruffly.  She nodded, smiling sadly, and went to the doorway, where she stood beside the human King.

          Theoden turned to go, then hesitated.  "Master Dwarf," he began.  Gimli turned to him.  "If there should be anything you need, please- the resources of Rohan are at your disposal."

.

.

          Gimli stared at the empty doorway for a brief, confused moment.  Then he shrugged and looked back to his friend.  "Now what shall we do for the evening?" he asked rhetorically, not expecting nor receiving an answer.  His gaze fell on the comb Eowyn had left on the table, and he recalled his earlier notion.  He pushed it away, embarrassed, but it came crawling back and wrapped its tentacles around his brain.  He fingered one of Legolas' limp braids, eyeing the tiny strands that had come loose in the past day of hard riding.

          Making his decision- after all, no one would see him, and Legolas surely would not be telling anyone- he set to unbraiding the remains and separating as many tangles as possible with his fingers.  He might tease Legolas about being prissy, but knew the elf simply preferred to be near and organized in his appearance.  He could not be comfortable like this, even if he couldn't express that discomfort.

          This was an unfamiliar pastime for him.  Obviously with his extensive beard he was accustomed to detangling hair, but rarely did he perform the task for anyone else.  This was usually a task between lovers or very close friends, or from parent to child.  He'd had few lovers, no children, and only a handful of companions close enough to request his assistance.  Too, dwarves tended to be fiercely independent.  It took massive trust- or broken fingers- to ask another for help.

          Legolas, he mused as he caught a particularly stubborn strand, could almost fit two of those categories right now.  The elf was quickly becoming a close companion, despite the almost legendary dislike between their races.  Not that he'd admit that, of course.  He had a reputation to uphold.

          'Aye, a reputation.  Gimli the jelly-hearted, they'll call me,' he grumbled to himself, although he knew he didn't mean a word of it.

          In his current state, Legolas occupied a place long reserved for the children of his race, the only children he'd ever encountered.  Both needed care and assistance in their daily lives and- he chuckled a little- both were unlikely to give any thanks for that help.  

          The last of the knots came loose and he bit back an undignified exclamation of triumph.  Pretending his cheeks weren't flushing yet again, he ran gentle fingers through the silky strands.  The elf's hair was so completely different from his own, fine to his coarse, straight to the wildly bushy habits of his dark, seeming to glow with the inner light of the Firstborn's race.

          Carefully, fighting to remember the patterns Eowyn had taught him so recently, he began to replace the braids his friend always wore.  The elf had remained unresponsive throughout the process, even when a particularly stubborn tangle caused Gimli to yank too hard.  Now though, it seemed he had relaxed slightly, leaning almost imperceptibly into Gimli's clumsy work.  'Or perhaps,' the dwarf thought cynically, 'you are only seeing what you wish to see.'

          It took him far longer than he had expected to finish his self-appointed task, but he was well pleased with the results.  He came around the chair to study the effect from the front.  A few small strands stood out under his critical eye, but nothing major.  He gave a small hmph of satisfaction.

          He was not prepared for Legolas to lean forward and rest his head on the dwarf's shoulder.

.

          '_Someone-_

          'Kindness.  Gentle touch, not like…'  His brain shied away from finishing that thought.  He sighed in contentment as he rested against the warm comfort source.  'This is a good shadow,' his mind told him, 'warmth and life, not like…' And again he pulled up short.  The wavering flame beside him dimmed momentarily, hiding from the soft breeze he was vaguely aware brushed his skin.  He shuddered involuntarily at the unanticipated sensation, remembering the shadow-creatures' touches.  Sudden warmth surrounded him, driving off the chill, and his world of shadows focused for one moment.

          'Gimli…'

          The clarity was short-lived.

.

          "Gimli…"

          The dwarf looked down in shock, pulling away slightly to look his friend in the eye.  The clear blue gaze held none of the distracted quality it had held for so long now.  "Legolas?" he whispered, almost holding his breath.

          Legolas blinked slowly and looked around the room in evident confusion.  "Where- I'm- Gimli?  What..?"  His voice held painful confusion.  Gimli could only watch helplessly as the elf fought his disorientation.  Legolas ran a confused look over the small cot, to the overly large lamp on the table, and to the still damaged doorway.  Gimli nearly cried out when the elf's face showed brief terror before going slack and unreachable again.  Gimli turned quickly, trying to see what had triggered the relapse.

          Aragorn stood in the doorway.


	11. Let Him Be Well

_A/N: Ok, this isn't much (or any) plot, but I wanted to write something and this appeared in my notebook during bio lab the other day. It's only a beginning analysis of 'What the #&% was Aragorn thinking?'_

_ That, and I'm in the middle of writing a lovely little screaming fit. _

_Thanks for the reviews, oh ye few but faithful._

Interlude: (Aragorn's Thoughts)

I should be keeping track of these plans. Theodan and his people are depending on my assistance, as though by my birth I should be a great tactician and commander. But my mind keeps returning to Legolas.

Legolas. My staunch supporter throughout, ever since we met. And to have repaid him thus…

My face remains impassively attentive, even as I wince inwardly. I vaguely hear myself contributing to the discussion as my memories return at full force. The heavy cloud over my mind is only a faint memory, but the actions it hid multiply each night in my dreams. Memories of what I did – what _we_ did. The knowledge that all my actions seemed reasonable at the time…it truly frightens and disgusts me what I am capable of. That I would assault a friend for any reason horrifies me. Gandalf tells me that much of it can be attributed to the effects of the Ring, compounded through my newly formed bond with Boromir. He does not blame me entirely, but Gimli does. As do I. And I cannot know what Legolas thinks, because…

I'd like to be able to soothe my conscience by blaming the Ring. I'd like to claim that Boromir instigated it, and I was too spell-wrapped to object. I would like to be able to do so…but I cannot. I cannot foist responsibility for my actions onto someone – or even some_thing_ – else. I should have been stronger, should have resisted. Should have resisted his first approaches.

Boromir approached my first in Imladris, proffering friendship and apologies after his actions at the Council…with hints that he would not be adverse to something more. I accepted his first advances, and turned down the second, discretely mentioning my relationship with Arwen. I would have thought that her memory, and the pendant I wore, would be enough to protect me. I was wrong.

It was less than a week later when his attempts overcame my averrals…and only two days after that came the first assault.

For a long time I had only hazy memories of the incident. We were in Rohan before I could clearly see what we had done. Now, I can remember every second, remember the joy I felt in dominating the helpless, beautiful creature below me. Only a creature.

I remember leaving him hurt and alone.

I will always be thankful to Gandalf. His actions saved Legolas' life and sanity, both that night and in the days after. At the time, and I have to force myself to admit it even to myself, I was happy merely that our plaything was still available. The wizard's loss in Moria was a blow to our party, while being a silent relief to us – he was keeping far too close an eye on Boromir and myself.

The second…incident…was essentially stress relief for the two of us. We had taken our ease in each other several times over, especially in Lorien where we knew we would be under close scrutiny. By the time we left, we were both impatient, and wired from fear Galadriel would find us out.

Perhaps we were overhasty, indiscrete. I noticed Gimli's glances for days after, though he never approached us. Unfortunately, so I thought at the time, he also prevented Legolas from approaching us, and vice versa.

That was the last time the two of us had together to 'play'. He was killed only a few days later.

I knew incoherent rage, and I knew it was aimed at Legolas. And then I knew nothing more until I was helping him back to camp and telling painfully obvious, even to me, lies to the third member of our trio.

That night the cloud over my memories lifted, and for the first time I knew all of what I had done. In the now empty hall I remember the shock of that night driving me to my knees, causing the loss of all I had eaten in the last day. That shock stayed with me for days, through Rohan, through to the gates of Helm's Deep. It was painful to see Legolas recoil when I had to help his breathing that night.

His total withdrawal in Edoras confused us all. I have my suspicions now, although no way to repair it. Gandalf's account of the night suggests that Legolas sensed or saw the Mordor presence and fled, either from it…or from me. I shudder uncontrollably at the thought, knowing just how close I came to being possessed again. If Gandalf hadn't been there…

When Legolas slammed the door behind him, the wizard woke. Gandalf was able to dispel the evil with little trouble, thanks to that door. Legolas indirectly saved me that night.

Which reminds me now that I have yet to thank him. Theodan gave me access to his healing stores; I head there to make a more potent brew that should heal the remaining damage to Legolas' throat, compounded by his screaming last night.

As I watch the pot of herbs simmer, I am forced once again to think over all of this, and come to one simple, if slightly selfish decision: the Ring must be destroyed. Not only for the benefit of Middle Earth, but also for myself – I cannot risk taking my throne under such control. The results would likely be disastrous.

The pot begins to boil, and I take it off to cool, then bottle it. With luck, this will be enough to repair some of the damage I inflicted.

Now I need only summon the courage to deliver it.

As I walk, I send a silent prayer to anyone listening. 'Let him recover.' Not even 'Let him forgive me,' I don't deserve that.

Simply, 'Let him be well.'


	12. Breaking Through

_A/N- Um…I'm sorry? Don't kill me? Real life sucks and so this took approximately forever to touch up and post. Yes, it's been mostly written for awhile. Note the word mostly. Even the next chapter is mostly written, except for the wonderful idea that popped into my head a few weeks ago that I have to work in. (Seriously, what was I thinking getting the whole battle over with in six lines or less?)_

_Special thanks to seeing-spots for reminding me…repeatedly…that I was supposed to be writing this. And to everyone else who hasn't given up on me entirely.  
_

Aragorn stood in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" Gimli snarled. Aragorn took a half-step back in surprise.

"I- wanted to see how he was."

The Ranger's voice seemed sincere, which somehow only enraged the dwarf more. "He _was_ better, until he saw you! You idiot, you're the one who started all this, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air, never mind be in the same room! If you would just stay away he might have a chance!" He took a deep breath and reminded himself that killing the future King would probably be a bad idea. To somebody. Somewhere. That helped, until his eye fell on Legolas again.

"Listen, you…" .

A small portion of his mind was aware that just beyond his recognition there were loud voices, shame and anger in turns. That section could be ignored, he decided, as he tried to process this contact he'd made. For a brief moment, he'd seen clearly past the shields in his mind, had recognized the voice and touch surrounding him. He'd even spoken, hadn't he?

_'Gimli?'___

But then… He had to force himself to continue. Then _Aragorn_ had arrived, and the change had been too much. He knew full well he was in no shape to confront the Ranger yet, and for one of the few times in his life took the simplest method of defense, even as he cursed himself for it. This was assuredly _not_ the actions of a warrior, and just as certainly not the way to recover.

He wanted to recover, wanted it desperately. Wanted _normalcy_. This shadowy half-existence was not to his taste. Almost better flee his body entirely…

The stubborn spark of duty and friendship fought down that train of thought even as it began. An elf could perish from the treatment he'd endured; he knew this, and knew that if he allowed himself to slip he could easily fade away. He clung to his outside ties, anchoring himself to the physical world.

_The Fellowship…_

Broken apart now, by forces outside their control, yet still working towards a common goal. That goal was enough to call to him even now. The destruction of the Ring would benefit all Middle Earth, of course, but he sought its demise with a second, more personal thought in mind: that it never again be able to drive someone so against his nature as to nearly destroy another being, especially a friend. If by his assistance no other would suffer the events he had endured, he would consider his duty well-fulfilled. No matter the cost, he would fight to give Frodo time.

The Hobbits…

He'd never before met any of that little race, but if these four were indicative of the general make, he would always hold them in high regard in the future. Frodo bore a burden he would not have chosen, one he was not even sure he could have borne. As for the others, to leave their homes and voyage into the unknown on the sole basis friendship required a great heart and tremendous courage. He could not allow them to be pulled into the unknown without trying to aid them.

_Gimli__…_

Aye, a dwarf though he was, the sturdy being was even now defending him. Legolas allowed the curtain separating them part slightly, and watched impassively as the dwarf told off an unseen third party. He suspected the identity of that individual, knew at the edge of clarity that he had seen their entrance, but could not bear to confirm it. Instead he concentrated on this oddest of comrades, and almost smiled to himself. This was truly a friendship forged in fire, and like a well-tempered blade it would endure, through battle, fire, or deep stony caves.

Through his contemplations he felt more than heard the tirade suddenly cease, and saw Gimli turn slightly, as though to face a new arrival. His stance relaxed slightly. Legolas saw him hold out a small vial to the newcomer, saw a grey-robed wrist take it. 'So Gandalf has come? Curious.'

The room came into slow focus, although he consciously remained impassive. Reacting was the quickest way to be noticed, of course, and the last thing he wanted was notice from… and his mind shied away again.

Gandalf was studying the potion he held by sight and cautious taste. He nodded and said something that seemed to reassure the dwarf, who took the vial back with a gruff nod. Aragorn stood silently in the far corner, as if trying to melt into the walls. Every inch of him screamed despair. Under normal circumstances the elf would have stopped to comfort anyone in that state.

His musings had distracted him, and he almost missed the wizard coaxing Gimli out the door. He did not miss Aragorn's timid approach, however, and his mind shrieked in fear before he was able to wrench down. He knew he was trembling, but could not spare enough control to stop it. Why had they left him alone?  
.

In the hall, Gimli had a similar question for the wizard. "What are you doing?! You actually mean to leave them alone together? Haven't you been _listening_?"

Gandalf stopped just around the corner and looked at him mildly. "Do you truly believe I would bring further harm to our friend? We are certainly close enough to intercept any troubles, not that I believe any are likely. From your descriptions, Legolas is beginning to handle everything, and he will have to face Aragorn again eventually. Aragorn must face himself as well, which may prove just as difficult a task. He needs this. I do not think Legolas will take any harm from it, but I do think that it will help Aragorn, whom we cannot risk having distracted when the enemy arrives." He seemed ready to say more, but Aragorn's raised voice distracted them, and they turned towards the open doorway.

"I don't know if you're hearing this or not," the Ranger was saying. "Legolas, please answer me…"

Gandalf held the dwarf back as Aragorn laid his hand on the elf's shoulder.

Legolas didn't flinch. Aragorn, however, looked as though he would cry. "Legolas?" he whispered, sounding choked. "Please… Do something, say something, anything! Hit me, curse at me, just please, please…" He broke off, tears on his face, and turned away, trying to recover his composure. He leaned on the nearest wall, as if suddenly too weak to stand, taking deep, controlled breaths.

"What we did was inexcusable," he said quietly several minutes later. "I- I can't think of any way to explain it that won't make it sound as though I'm trying to dodge the blame. I can only pray that the damage we did is not irreversible." He looked at the elf with a sad half-smile, his eyes red but dry, and moved to kneel beside the chair. "I know this won't make it any easier, but I know now the touch of Mordor, and will know it in the future. Nothing like this will happen again. I swear it. We will not stop until the Ring is destroyed and all the people of Middle Earth safe." He met Legolas' unseeing eyes, searching for recognition, for any change in Legolas' face, his shoulders drooping when he found none. He rose slowly, as if weighted down beneath his anguish, and moved toward the door almost dazedly, his eyes on the elf the entire time.  
.

The wizard and dwarf pulled back as the Ranger emerged, wiping clear the last visible traces of his emotional outburst. The Man did not seem to notice them, instead heading off determinedly towards the main gates.

Gimli turned to speak, moved to return to Legolas' side, but the wizard hushed him with a gesture and pulled him slightly away.

"I must depart tonight," Gandalf told him quietly. "I shall return- Never fear!- but it shall be two days, at least. Tell Theoden, and the others, at supper tonight. They would try to prevent my leaving, or else to assign a guard, which would only hinder me."

Gimli simply nodded, not even trying to guess what the wizard planned. Gandalf strode off, but turned back for a bare moment. "Do not fear so for our elven friend. He may return sooner than you think." Gimli nodded again before going back into the vacated room, wondering if it would be a true prediction.

"Legolas?" he questioned quietly. "He's gone." He could almost see the awareness return to the elf's eyes.

"Gimli?" Legolas' rasping voice was very quiet, almost child-like. His face was confused, a lost expression in his eyes.

"Why do you continue to hide from him, my friend?"

"It…I'm scared, a little," the elf admitted quietly. "It is easier this way." Gimli looked askance at him and Legolas sighed, fiddling with a stray piece of hair. The unusual nervous tic did not go unnoticed. "They…it wasn't as much fun for them if I didn't react," he said haltingly. "I- I know it was the Ring, I know he doesn't want to hurt me, but that's just my head, my heart doesn't believe it yet, and it's so hard-" he broke off, nearly in tears, then controlled himself quickly. "I was listening, you know. To you, yelling at him," he smiled slightly, "and to him, just now. He was a victim too, in a way. He was controlled too. As much as I'd like to hate him, and as much as I still fear him, I cannot help but remember the friendship we had, and long for that again."

Gimli nodded slowly. "I guess that makes sense," he admitted, taking the other chair. From the corner of his eye he saw Legolas hide a tiny grin as he literally climbed into it. He ignored this joke at the expense of his short stature, pleased that his friend could begin to laugh again. "You knew him as a friend far longer than as… anything else. And it does seem that he's trying to repair the damage he caused. But at the same time, words are cheap, and easily spent. Let his actions in the coming days speak for themselves."

Legolas nodded soberly. "I plan to. And I wanted to thank you, especially…" He stopped short as a dry cough took over his body. Gimli felt a rush of exasperation with himself as he recalled the vial in his pocket. He handed it over to Legolas, who looked at him quizzically, still coughing.

"It's to heal your throat and voice," the dwarf informed him. "That's what Aragorn came to deliver. Idiot didn't even stop to think what damage he might cause, being here. But I had Gandalf check it out, just to make sure it was what he said it was. It was."

Legolas looked at him with amusement at his choice of phrasing, and he squirmed a little in embarrassment. It certainly wasn't one of his most eloquent sentences. Still smiling, the elf drained the little glass, wrinkling his nose at the taste. There seemed to be some cooling agent involved, for his sore throat almost immediately felt better. "It certainly seems to be what he claimed," he said smoothly. His voice, they were pleased to note, sounded nearly normal again. Presumably once it worked into his system, the remaining damage would be repaired. "His…visit. It may not be how I would have liked to spend my time, but I think…it may have been for the best. A- Aragorn," he forced out past a nervous shudder, "cannot afford to be distracted at this time. Too many are depending on him.

Gimli was inwardly amused to hear this near-repetition of Gandalf's statement. Which reminded him. "Gandalf has gone off," he said abruptly. Well, it was suppertime somewhere, it counted. "He plans to return soon, I didn't bother asking any more than that. Didn't figure I'd get a straight answer anyway."

Legolas regarded him solemnly. "The day you get a straight answer from Gandalf, or entirely understand one he does give, is the day I inhabit Moria. It'll never happen."

Gimli glared for a minute, then did a double take. A joke? Good signs were just pouring down, weren't they?

As if to counter that idea, chaos erupted in the hall. Legolas froze at the unexpected flood of sound and people, then shot from his seat to the doorway. Gimli struggled down from his perch, vaguely aware that the archer was questioning one of the runners.

"What's happening?" the dwarf cried in frustration.

Legolas turned back to the room. "Armies are at the gate. We're under siege."

* * *

It's driving me nuts that the line The Hobbits wouldn't stay in italics. Or this line, evidently. Sorry, had to vent. I'll do my best not to make y'all wait another forever for the next one. 


	13. Harsh Victory

_Oh look, it's the missing author…sorry? Thanks for waiting though. And please ignore the weird line breaks, all my spacing went away when I wasn't looking.  
_

_P.S. – watch me mangle medical techniques! Mwahahaha. Or something._

No matter what any tale or song might say, war is not glorious. It is looking around to see your friends cut down before you, unable to help as you try to avoid the same fate. It is the grim knowledge that your opponents firmly believe that they are in the right, and that _you_ are the enemy who will take their homes and families should you win. There are no rules, no niceties. There is only survival, and living with yourself afterwards.

'This is no time for philosophy,' Aragorn scolded himself as he rushed from the wall to join the fight. 'You cannot save them all, and you force no one to fight. You can only do your best, and lead them as well as can be.'

His preoccupation cost him. Only years of experience allowed the faint prickling on the back of his neck to translate into evasive action, with the result that the oncoming weapon came down on his raised sword, rather than his skull. The shock of impact sent his defense clattering to the stones. His attacker's face glowed with sadistic glee as Aragorn dove for the fallen sword.

The creature simply kicked it further away, to fall end-on-end down the nearby stairway. Aragorn scrambled to regain his feet, cursing himself and the situation. The voices of every instructor he had ever studied under spun in his head, berating him for breaking one of the most important rules: never drop your weapon.

As his opponent lifted its axe in final preparation, he silently agreed with those voices.

The dwarf had long ago vanished into the melee, traceable only by the trail of axe-hewn bodies. From his high perch, keen elven eyes followed the damage almost unconsciously, as his he wrought his own destruction at a distance. The riot of noise surrounding him he tucked away, narrowing his focus to himself, his weapon, and the target. Shot after shot, a small corner of his mind counting the kills, a smaller portion reveling in the routines of archery. Choose a target. Aim. Release. Another. Another. He was reaching for his last arrow when he saw the Ranger fall, saw the axe rise.

Grasp the arrow. _"You let him die!"_

Arrow to string. "_D__o something, say something, anything! Hit me, curse at me, just please, please…"_

Aim. "_Too many are depending on him."_

Fire.

The future king fought for steady footing, tripped over a discarded helm, and continued to pull away, scanning all sides for a weapon, anything, as his attacker gave a cruel laugh-

And gasped, dropped the heavy axe, and fell, nearly flattening the human. Aragorn blinked in surprise, his knees turning to jelly at this sudden respite. His mind recovered faster than his body, clearing enough to spot his attacker's downfall.

An elven arrow was embedded in its spine.

Silently his eyes backtracked the arrow's trajectory. Brown eyes met cold blue for a moment; Aragorn bowed slightly, hand over heart, unable to fathom this development, nor the effects it would have. When he looked back, the elf was gone. The Ranger drew away from the scene, rushing down the stairs to recover his fallen weapon and rejoin the battle elsewhere, forcing his body to stop shaking as he went. No amount of experience in battle could prepare you for staring into the eyes of death, and the relief of Legolas' intervention was still jolting through his system. Shaking his head to clear it, clearing the worst of the dust from his sword, he tried to put the events from his mind and headed toward the worst of the fighting.

* * *

The tiny force behind the walls of Helm's Deep may have been vastly outnumbered, but they could never have been out-motivated. They fought for their lives, their homes, their friends…and, though few knew it, for the fate of all Middle Earth.

The few who knew it, had no time to dwell upon it. Aragorn and Theoden threw themselves into battle and leadership as necessary, determined on both sides not to let their people and friends down again. Gimli fought proudly, both for the cause and for the honor of his race. And Legolas…

Amidst the orcs, he fought for his life.

Against his demons, he fought for his soul.

The faces of too many Men swirled around him, undifferentiated behind mangled metal and dust. Battle fever twisted their features in rage, and rage was an emotion he had learned to fear in the race of Men.

The familiar patterns of strike and lunge, block and parry came to him as easily as breathing. This, he could do. Here, he could release some of his anger and fear.

Bodies fell around him, cut down by his own daggers or the weapons of others. He whirled as a new foe arrived, more sensed than heard, behind him. A man-sized figure, with a fierce expression of sadistic glee leering from behind the dark helm-slit. A familiar expression, the look of one who has a desired target before him. He'd seen that look before.

'No,' he thought in horror. 'Not again…'

Defying his logic, his body froze in terror. He never saw the blow coming.

Gimli saw it, saw him fall, and roared in anger, unable to stop it. Axe flying, he made his way faster than he would have thought possible to Legolas' side, slaying the beast that had injured the elf. Human beast or mage-spawn mattered not, it would pay for damaging the only newly healing archer.

* * *

Gandalf's aid had arrived none-too-soon. It was only with the additional forces the wizard had roused that Helm's Deep was saved. Now the dead were being identified and mourned, the enemy dead burned, and the injured healed. It was Aragorn's skill as a healer that was needed and prized now, and he worked single-mindedly at his task, trying not to think about one patient in particular.

Legolas lay on his side on the small cot, talking quietly and painfully to the dwarf beside him. His fair hair was darkened with sweat and matted in places with blood, though fortunately little of it seemed to be his. What was, came from the obvious slash that ran across his left jaw, over his left shoulder and halfway down his back. Threads from his tunic tangled in the torn flesh, which was already puffing up unpleasantly as substances from the weapon's edge met with the elf's bloodstream.

Their conversation died suddenly when they caught sight of him. He saw Legolas stiffen, then wince as the movement caused him more pain.

"The head healer asked me to see to you, as I know more about the elves than the others, and we need every hand available. I- can fetch someone else, if you would like," he said nervously, trying to project calm and failing miserably.

Gimli looked between them, but said nothing. Silence dragged out for a moment, until Aragorn moved to find another healer.

"Wait," came a hoarse voice. Legolas' voice.

Aragorn stopped. "You accept my aid?" he asked professionally, trying to hide his surprise. The elf gave a miniscule nod, all that his wound would allow him. Gimli seemed to take the elf's words at face value, but gave the Ranger a glare that promised rather unpleasant results if he caused undue pain of any kind. Probably results carried out with blunt objects. Aragorn met that gaze steadily, having no intention of harming the elf again.

That intention, however well made, had little to do with reality, unfortunately. In order to get to the wound, he had to first remove the mangled tunic, which he knew would cause extreme discomfort at the least. He finally resorted to soaking the material loose with clean water and a solution meant to remove clotted blood. It resulted in some fresh bloodflow, but that would serve to help clean the injury, so he merely had Gimli hold clean bandages to it while he worked.

Stitching it was a new trouble entirely. The muscles in Legolas' shoulder would not cease spasming, making it next to impossible to repair them properly. Even when he could manage to find the right spot, the next twitch would bring twice the normal amount of pain. He growled quietly in frustration, then sat back and faced the elf.

"This isn't going to work," he announced. "I need to stop the movement of those muscles if we're going to finish this any time soon. The only problem is" and he looked straight into the pain-filled blue eyes "I don't have any localized drugs. The only one I have access to will freeze your entire body for nearly an hour." He didn't mention the similarity to another drug Legolas had experience with; he didn't need to. They both remembered that night far too well. This one would dull the sensitivity, not increase it, but the elf had only his word to go on in that regard.

He saw several emotions flit across Legolas' eyes- fear, at the front, followed by pain, and something that might have been desperation before he heard a whispered, "If you must."

He cringed inwardly at the defeated tone of his friend's voice, but forced himself to remain expressionless as he retrieved the package he needed. "It's a contact powder," he said neutrally when he returned. Legolas' eyes showed that he knew what Aragorn meant, but the elf simply nodded ever so slightly again, and grasped Gimli's hand with his own good one. Aragorn nodded as well, if a bit more shakily, before retrieving a pinch, warning Gimli to sit back for a moment, and blowing it into the elf's face.

He worked quickly then, trying to ignore the memories of the last time the elf's still body had lain helpless beneath him. He was holding off tears only by strictest will by the time he set the last stitch and stood. "Will you stay with him?" he asked the dwarf, proud that his voice was reasonably steady. Gimli didn't take his eyes off Legolas' face, but nodded in acknowledgement.

"It'd take two dozen orcs to get me from his side," the dwarf said firmly. Aragorn believed him. He gathered his the materials he'd needed, and returned them to their places to be cleaned.

Then he took himself off to cry for his friend, for himself, for the entire situation, before he had to be the responsible future King again.

* * *

Gimli sat wearily beside his still friend. Legolas' eyes told him clearly that he remembered being frozen and helpless before. To try and take the elf's mind off his situation, he began to speak. "I remember the first time I saw you, back at the Council. My first thought went something along the lines of 'prissy elf, probably spends more time with a comb than a weapon'. Aye, and it's funny to think back on that, knowing you now. Had someone told me then I'd be sitting at your bedside, or worse, fixing that hair I'd joked about, I'd have wondered if they forgot to duck going under the low branches.

"By the time you came back injured- the second time, actually- I'd started to see you as just another warrior, not an elf at all. An equal, no matter your race. And I understood why you'd allow me to see you at your worst, when you couldn't allow the Hobbits near. We all tried to protect them, didn't we? We still are trying.

_ "_I remember the night Aragorn was nearly taken again. I found you in the courtyard that night," he whispered to the shining form before him. "We were worried when we did not see you. You must have witnessed the attack, and had no way of knowing that Gandalf had remedied it. That was the night you fled from us, from life. Then you began to return, and I found out that I actually cared. Look at me, a warrior of my people, getting maudlin over a silly elf! But we are friends, are we not? Friends are there in all weathers, in good times and bad.

"Don't let what happened take you away from us again."

He woke with his hand empty, and Legolas nowhere to be seen.

* * *

His frantic searches took him across and through most of the populated areas of Helm's Deep. Amidst the rejoicing people it was difficult to search for one individual, especially when looking from hip-height, but he would not be swayed. His friend was missing, and he would be damned if he let it stay that way.

His search finally led him toward the top of the walls, where the sentries still stood watch over the shattered gates that protected them. He puffed his way to the top; even his stamina had its limits, and he'd been rushing about for several hours.

The sight of a pale blonde form rewarded him. Legolas stood on the edge of the wall, his hair streaming in the wind that seemed to never cease over the walls of the fortress. The elf seemed to be speaking to himself, or to the winds, as he contemplated the damaged plains before him. His face held a confusion of emotions, and Gimli felt himself tense. Legolas could not be considering…

Even before his horrified mind could dare finish the thought he was moving closer, downwind of his friend. What he heard broke the icy fear that had clenched his heart, and he smiled in pure joy for the first time in far too long.

Legolas was singing.

Gimli ignored the happy tears that trickled down his cheeks and bled into his beard. Legolas turned towards him with a small smile, glittering trails on his face. He finished his song as the dwarf approached, but made no move to retreat nor climb down from his perch.

The two stood together as darkness crept over the scenery. For the first time in over a week Legolas did not cower from the dark, watching silently as the stars illuminated the sky. He turned to Gimli and smiled, a tentative smile that threatened to contain all the joy in the world. Gimli allowed himself to hope.

Someday, his friend would be fully healed.

_FIN (for now)_

_Thanks to everyone (yes, all five of you _J_ ) who stuck with me through this painfully drawn out ordeal. But look, I did finally post!_

_I could, conceivably, continue this through RotK. Should I? Or would someone else like to? If I do, it won't be posted until I have at least half of it written (approximately a million years from now), and that would have to wait until I read the book again (or at least see the movie, whichever comes first). _


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